


A New and Familiar Motion

by sam_roulette



Series: O Warmonger works [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Falling In Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26727370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_roulette/pseuds/sam_roulette
Summary: A Lord and his Knight's musings on having a home and making it yours.This is part of the O Warmonger series and was written in response to the question "What's a normal day in Lord Blackwood's Court like? especially between him and Jon" that someone asked us onour tumblr!If you want to read the actual fic,click here!
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker (mention)
Series: O Warmonger works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945219
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	A New and Familiar Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Quick abuse mention cw, because Dame Blackwood is mentioned briefly and her vibes are Rancid, and also for just uuhhhh royalty being royalty and a tad bit of unreality! But it's mostly just some medieval lads falling in love

Lord Blackwood has spent the majority of his days in Blackwood Manor being either verbally accosted by his mother or adored and then immediately abandoned by whatever “brave” soldier thought they could fix him. Historically, company has never been peaceful and affection has always been accompanied by something biting and cold. And of course the Kingdom itself hasn’t changed, and Lord Blackwood is still labeled a bastard and a harbinger of war for reasons unbeknownst to him, but at his door, hostility hangs its sword and shield and moves to warm its troubled soul by the brick fire pit in his garden.

Sir Jonathan and Timothy build the fire pit as a surprise for him roughly three days after they take up residence in his manor, and though its appearance pales in comparison to the ornate stonework of the castle walls, it holds more life in its crude construction than this place ever has. The day he finds them sitting around it, he vows never to make them work again.

This new, bright company, of course, comes with its fair share of chaos. Our dear Fool and Sir Jonathan really do love to bicker--especially when it comes to their Lordship’s… affections--and Sasha is nothing if not an enabler. But there’s a certain levity to their quarreling, and each new echoing retort paints the halls with pink and golden laughter. Timothy and Sasha have been sources of joy and brilliant humor since Lord Blackwood first met them, brandishing their ringing brushes high, but he’s surprised the first time Sir Jonathan’s laugh leaves its mark in the ballroom. The paint is thin and pale, but it coats the walls and fills his lungs and leaves him entirely breathless. He is unable to articulate why this happens--why he didn’t see it coming and hold his breath in the first place--but he hopes that, should it happen again, he is at least able to give Sir Jonathan better paint and brushes.

It does happen again--and again, and again--and after a fortnight of witnessing this household of artistic brilliance, the hues are blinding and the fumes are suffocating and he needs to have a lie down.

//

Occasionally, Sir Jonathan wakes up and forgets that he lives in Blackwood Manor--or rather, he wakes up and fears remembering that he lives in Blackwood Manor and being wrong. On those days, where he feels the possibility--the likelihood--that he could be anywhere else cloying at his tired frame, he spends the first moments of the morning with his eyes closed, and focuses.

What are the familiar sounds? Voices his ears have only just met. Birdsong that, in his former place of residence, was substituted with silence. The soft scratching of his nails against fabric as he lifts the bedclothes off his body and moves them aside. He sits up, eyes still closed, and takes a deep breath.

What are the familiar textures? The rough stone against his feet as they touch the floor. The soft silk of his morning robe as he lifts it from the carved wooden table next to his bedside and drapes it across his shoulders. The table itself against his hand as he stands and makes his way to what he hopes--is starting to believe--is his chamber door. The soft, cool metal of its handle. He opens the door, eyes still closed, and takes another deep breath.

What are the familiar smells? The post-rain earth from a window that opens outward to the garden. The dampness of that rain against old stonework. Steam wafting upward from something small and solid that he accidentally bumps with his foot. He takes a final breath in, and lets it out, and opens his eyes.

He looks up at the window near his door, and then down at his feet, and smiles. He picks up the silver tray, upon which rests a delicate cup of strong, sweetened tea and a piece of warm bread, and makes his way to the garden.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell with us on tumblr, we love it!!


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